What We've Lost
by LochlynParker
Summary: One-shot, post season 2. Danny goes to mourn Matt, and ends up rescuing Allison.


What We've Lost

A/N: Hey guys, this is a one-shot that I wrote a couple years ago for the Teen Wolf fanfiction contest. I just found it tucked away on a hard drive and thought I'd share it with all of you!

He remembers a day, only a few weeks ago. Matt, lying on his bed, his tablet held up for them both to see. Trying to undo the loop injected into a certain video made by a friend. Danny had wanted to get lost in that moment, in that day. The way Matt's shirt would slide up his stomach as he twisted to show Danny something, or how occasionally their arms would touch. That feeling, of skin on skin, of warmth from someone nearby, is what he wants to hold on to now.

In his hands he holds a single, white lily. His feet move one step at a time. Summer hovers just around the corner, but it is still cool enough for a jacket. The trees, in full bloom, take the gloom out of the air.

Matt's resting here, he knows that much. His head still spins when he thinks of all the questions he will never have answered. Almost like everyone around him is running on a different frequency, one he can not quite tune in on. The cemetery looks nonthreatening with the sun dangling right above the trees, aching to slip into darkness.

The only thing Jackson, Scott, or Stiles have told him is that Matt drowned. Not how, or why, or where they were. Danny had wanted to ask them more, but he hasn't had much luck trying to get a hold of any of them. Everyone has been so guarded lately. Had Matt actually killed all those people, as the police are saying?

Lost in thought, he doesn't realize he's arrived. The grave is fresh – no grass has begun to grow over the small mound of exposed earth. The headstone, simple and elegant, rests at the far end. He kneels down, placing the flower at the foot.

"Danny?"

Jumping, he turns on his heels. Allison sits behind him, leaning against the back of a large tombstone. Her face is curious, but something else is there too, a pleading from her eyes. He senses she wants him to voice something, but he doesn't know what she expects to hear.

For a moment he remains silent. He still doesn't know all the details, but he does know that Matt had an obsession with her, an unhealthy one. Once, he had scrolled through Matt's camera while he was out of the room. If it wasn't a picture of Allison, it was a distorted picture of Scott, his eyes a massive glare. He never got a chance to ask Matt how he achieved that effect before transferring the photographs to his computer.

"Hey, Allison," he says slowly, partly because he has no idea what to say next, partly because he has to work to bring himself back to the present.

"You brought a flower." It isn't a question or an observation. She radiates something like a cool anger, her eyes turn icy.

His next words must be chosen carefully. "Matt was my friend."

"Matt was a murderer."

He's taken aback by the bluntness of the statement. "Not the Matt I knew."

Allison plants her hands on either side of her waist and pushes herself to her feet. Brushing her hands clean on her jeans, her voice drops lower. "You didn't know Matt. None of us did."

"Then why are you here?" Danny is confused by this conversation. True, he and Allison have never been close friends, sipping coffee over the latest school gossip, but he is not completely oblivious to what has been happening with her. She's lost a parent, she's lost a boyfriend. So much has been taken from her over the past few months, and here she stands, a shell of the girl he met when she had transferred to Beacon Hills. A hardened shell, as if she deflects emotion before it can take root in her. A small part of him wants to reach out, to hold her hand so that she can know, if only for a moment, that she is not alone.

He does not take it.

"You can never be too certain."

"Certain of what?"

She bows her head. He knows the words that don't come forth. _You can never be too certain he's dead. _How he knows, or why she would say that, he can't say. So many odd occurrences have been happening around here, so many incidents without an explanation.

He thinks about the day Scott confronted him about his torn lacrosse gear. The way Scott had a fire in him. When Danny saw the holes torn through his uniform, he originally thought it must have been some elaborate prank. No one had access to his locker except for Coach Finstock and Jackson.

Then there was the video. He never watched it, although now he wishes he had. Something had happened to Jackson in those two hours of video, something that changed him, rattled him.

He notices Allison watching him. _I need to stay here, in the present. Not caught up in the past._ So he changes the subject. "I'm sorry to hear about you and Scott."

Defensive, she almost barks back. "That happened a long time ago."

Before he can help himself, a small smile breaks over his face. "You two were pretty obvious."

"Well, that's all over now." Allison takes a step closer to Matt's grave, then a step back. "I should go see my mother."

Before he can stop himself, he's asking her if she'd like company. She gives a small shake of her head, and then begins to walk off. After a few yards, she turns back. "Danny?" she calls.

"Yeah?"

"There are things happening, that I can't explain. I just want to know you'll be careful. Especially around Jackson." With that she walks off.

Alone again, he thinks about what she said. It is clearly a warning, but of what? Whatever has been plaguing him has apparently been resolved. Jackson is back with Lydia; his spirits seem to be lifting.

Lydia brings a pang of jealousy to his mind. He still hears Jackson in his head: _I'm everyone's type_. How easy for Jackson to catch him in a lie. But Jackson has Lydia. Matt, in some way, had Allison. Danny's boyfriend dropped him hard and fast, without an explanation or goodbye. It leaves a void when ties are severed so cleanly, a void that longs to be filled with the light touch of a hand, or the slight glimpse of flesh.

"Matt, what did you do?" he asks the grave. "What happened?"

He craves answers. He craves understanding. His mind keeps drifting back to Jackson, the video, the night at the club, when his tablet was stolen from the back of his car. The music that night engulfed him, and even though his ex was dancing to the pulse a few feet away, he was lost in it.

That's what he needs. For a few hours, he just needs to be lost in the music again, to give himself over to oblivion, speak with his body. But something feels broken inside him, some wrench in the machine.

Then he reaches into his pocket. His fingers fumbled over the bottle inside - prescription sleeping pills with his mother's name on the label. They were strong; he'd only need a few. Welcome that serene, endless oblivion. He looks around to see if anyone else has approached the area. There's no one, and Allison is out of sight, lost in her own corner of the cemetery.

Falling soundlessly to the ground, he imagines a world without him in it. Would anyone really notice? Finstock, maybe. He might notice that one day his goalie stopped showing up for practice. Would Jackson? They are supposed to be best friends, but Jackson hasn't said so much as a word to him since the championship game. Everyone around him would keep on turning, twisting to their own, secretive beats.

He's about to pull the bottle from his pocket, then stops. He can't do this here, not now. Not in view of the one person he had actually gotten closer to this semester. Everyone else pulls away, even now, when he can plainly see that whatever drama between them all has been carefully tucked away.

Allison is so strong. All that pain she pushes away from her, all those secrets that burden her, she has dealt with. Something was wrong today. The air begins to feel like it's closing in as the sun sets. The trees lean in closer. The very fabric of the day was loosening, ready to unravel, and all he can see is that pleading look in her eye.

He has to get to her. Something dark within him cries out.

Scrambling to his knees, he realizes he has no idea where her mother is buried. The cemetery was huge, and she could be anywhere. He ran, row after row, eyes darting all around him.

He spots her and stops dead. She kneels before her mother's grave. A disconnected part of his brain can't help but notice how much larger her tombstone is than Matt's. He pushes the thought aside and forces himself to focus. She's on her knees on the grass, rivulets of tears streaking her face, and she's holding a gun. A gun pushed under her chin.

"Allison!"

She jolts, the gun falling away, hanging limply in her hand. She tilts her face towards him, and this time her whole body is pleading. "Oh, God…"

Running to her, he slides across the grass, one hand automatically going for the gun, ripping it out of her hand and flinging it a few feet away. It bounces off the grass and catches one of the last fleeting rays of sunlight, and in that moment looks absolutely beautiful.

He clutches both of her hands in his, and begins crying despite himself. Before he can utter a word, she starts speaking rapidly.

"It's just too much. I've lost my aunt, my mother, Gerard. I pushed Scott away, Matt acted like a monster. There is too much pain here, too much loss." She pauses to wipe at her cheeks. "Why am I telling you this?"

"I'm here," he says. "It's going to be okay."

Collapsing in his arms, she sobs quietly for a few moments. After a minute, he continues. "You need to go back to Scott. Whatever has happened between the two of you, it's plain to see that you love him. And with everything else you've been through, you need that anchor. That tether to what _can be_. He loves you, and you love him. Accept that, and let it guide you away from this."

"I can't-"

"Yes you can. Tell him how you feel. Tell him what you want, what you need." In that instant he realizes that this is what she's been waiting to hear. This is what that pleading look in her eyes meant earlier, at Matt's grave.

She breaks, he can tell. With one last glance at the gun, she pulls herself out of Danny's embrace. "Could you…?" Her voice trails off, but he knows what she means. _Could you get rid of the gun?_

"I will."

Fumbling to her feet, almost falling, she claws at her pocket until her phone pokes out the top. "I'm sorry," she says. "I have to-"

"Go on. Call him."

She gives him one last, lingering look. "Thank you, thank you so much."

"You're welcome." And he means it.

As Allison walks away, his thoughts return to Matt. Scott answers, and Allison seems lighter. If she had been weighed down before, now helium slowly fills her. He knows everything is going to be alright for her.

Matt was an amazing person in his mind, and he can't take that away from him. Matt treated him with compassion, and there was always something behind his eyes that hinted at something more.

Danny stoops down to retrieve the gun, feeling the weight, the solidness of it in his grasp. He has no idea what to do with it now.

Before he leaves the cemetery, he knows that he has to stop once more at Matt's grave. He walks slowly along the path back, taking in the setting of the sun, the way the dew is settling over the yard.

As he nears the grave, an impulse strikes him. He kneels next to the grave, and without even knowing why, places his hand on top of the undisturbed soil. He feels his connection to Matt then, feels something pulling at him, beneath the surface. He remembers the touch of his skin, the glimpse of his stomach, and revels in it.

The dirt beneath the grave begins to churn. He can feel it shifting beneath this touch, until something presses against his hand. The sensation was reptilian, but the feeling was Matt. And beneath that, from a lower, darker place, he hears something like the unfurling of giant wings.


End file.
